


the common book

by Crimson_Voltaire



Series: Kinktober 2017 [5]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Creampie, F/M, Graves' Estate, Kinktober, Kinktober 2017, M/M, Multi, OT3, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, Walking In On Someone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 10:09:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12296988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimson_Voltaire/pseuds/Crimson_Voltaire
Summary: His Book of Common Spells is missing. Credence knows he left it on his bedside table. A Point Me takes him to Graves' room, and Credence gets a little more than he bargained for. Not that he's complaining, really.





	the common book

**Author's Note:**

> *Nervous glances*  
> Not sure how to feel about this one. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated!

**October 7th - Creampie**  
  
His book of common spells is missing. Credence _knows_ he left it on his bedside table before he left for church this morning. He knows he did. And yet it isn’t there. Frowning and biting his lip, Credence casts around the room. It isn’t anywhere – not on his bed or on his overflowing bookshelves, nor on his windowsill where his tiny jade plant sits nor on his desk, also overflowing with books. It’s just up and vanished. Credence wracks his brain, trying to think of where he could have left it or who could have taken it. It’s so odd though, that someone would take a book such as that.   
  
“Point me, _Book of Common Spells_ ,” Credence whispers, gesturing with his hand. His wand remains safely tucked at his side, he doesn’t use it that much. The only one who uses hand magic more than Credence is Graves. Instantly, Credence feels the tug in his chest. It leads him out of the room. The ancient floorboards don’t creak, but the first step leading from his attic spire does. Credence is careful going down, lest he upset it or the apparition that sometimes hangs about this part of the staircase.   
  
Credence follows the tug in his chest, down the stairs and to the grand wing, where Graves’ bedroom is. That’s odd, Credence thinks to himself, that the book would end up in this part of the massive manor house. The door to Percival’s room is closed, but it often is. Credence wraps his hand around it without thinking, leaning in to the solid oak and pushing.   
  
He can feel the magic tearing instantly, the awful ripping sensation followed by the recoil of a broken spell. It goes shivering around the room, lilac-white and rebounds. It hits Percival full on, electricity crackling up his nerves. There’s a shriek, like someone is in pain.   
  
Credence stops dead in the doorway, hand still on the knob. Queenie bucks and almost convulses, her thighs tightening around Percival’s narrow flanks. Her spine arches, and the fingers tangled in Graves’ hair tug in a way that almost looks painful. Graves snarls, low and harsh, pressing into her with a particularly brutal movement which has Credence’s belly swooping.   
  
He slams the door shut, and does an about face, pressing his back against it. For a moment, there is silence, and then, 

“Mhmm... C'mere baby."

Credence freezes, heart in his throat and hand desperately held back from his groin. He feels like sin; filthy and debauched and yet so helplessly and undeniably turned on. He whimpers into his fist, shoulders rounding, trying to make himself smaller. 

"C'mere, Creed," Queenie calls, all soft and gentle and coaxing.   
  
And as if drawn on a string, Credence pushes open the door and enters to room to face judgement. Percival glances up when the door moves, dark eyes and dark hair and sharp intensity. The light glistens on sweaty skin and in silvering hair, makes Credence want to run his hands along the other's body, feel the muscles and smattering of hair on his chest, take him- 

Credence stops himself, swallowing around the coin in his throat. Queenie reclines against the pillows now, her shapely legs spread wide. Credence adverts his eyes, glancing at the walls and out the massive windows, trying to avoid what is staring him directly in the face. 

She flutters and pulses with aftershocks, slick and seed leaking. Deft fingers idly part Queenie's folds, her middle and ring fingers toying with her clit. When she smiles, it's that of a lazy predator; no less intense than Percival's, but she already knows she has her prey.   
  
"C'mere," she repeats again.   
  
Credence moves, crawling onto the bed, feeling it give at his weight. Percival shifts, and suddenly he's a warm presence at Credence's back, a whiff of cologne and sweat and him. It has Credence shuddering, skin breaking out in goosebumps. Percival's laughter is sandpaper rough in his ear, as grainy as his stubble, which scrapes against delicate skin when the man whispers in his ear.

"Ever seen that before?"                                                                                                             

Desperately, Credence shakes his head, biting his lip to stem the tears that want to well up and plunge from his lashes.   
  
"N-no, sir."

He's never even seen a woman's sex up close before. The only places Credence saw someone naked were his own bathroom and in the seedy bars he used to nip past doing Ma's evil. 

Big hands wrap around Credence's wrists, callous rough fingers strong but gentle, guiding Credence. One to Queenie's stomach, caressing down the softness of it, over her hip. The other up an impossibly smooth thigh until they're both dancing around her sex, brushing through neatly trimmed curls to press into wet and tight and heat. 

"N-no..."  
  
He says it, but his wicked heart doesn't want to. And they _know_ it.   
  
Pearly white collects on Credence's fingers, Queenie's cunt fluttering. Percival is behind him now, solid against his back.  
   
"Touch her," he encourages in a whispery husk, "Go on."  
  
Credence does. She's so impossibly beautiful, miles of skin flushed pink, her nipples hard and rosy and looking kiss swollen. Her lips are shiny, eyes blown wide, brows canted. When she moans, when Credence presses his fingers against her clit; it sends a jolt through him.   
  
"Yeah," she whispers, "Yeah, like that."  
  
More spend leaks from her, as Credence works her up to another peak. He tries not to stare, but it's hard not to. His teeth pierce his skin and Credence tastes copper as Queenie crests her peak, back arching off the mattress and cunt spasming.  
  
"Lord help me," Credence whispers. His cock jerks in his trousers - now straining and uncomfortably tight. Percival's hand settles over his groin. He leans into Graves’ touch.   
  
"Your god can't help you now, darling."   
  
That’s alright, Credence thinks. He doesn’t really want help anyways. And on the massive bureau, sits the _Book of Common Spells_. As Percival takes his mouth and pushes Credence back onto the soft mattress, Credence has the funny feeling it ended up in here on purpose.


End file.
